


take this sinking boat (and point it home)

by stickmarionette



Series: your immortal smile [3]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: BFFs, Baby Dream Team, Character Study, Childhood Sweethearts, FC Barcelona, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3112733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickmarionette/pseuds/stickmarionette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There's school, there's football, and increasingly, there's Cesc - copying his homework, charming the cooks into giving them extra sweets at mealtimes with a look and a grin, cheating at ProEvo, nutmegging him in practice. Taking his passes from the back and turning them into goals.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Gerard pictures them doing the same in the first team in 7 or 8 years time, and can hardly breathe for the longing that fills him up.</i>
</p><p>Home is where the heart is. (The story of the Baby Dream Team, as told by Gerard Pique.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	take this sinking boat (and point it home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meretricula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meretricula/gifts).



> This fic was brought to you by Ferritin4, everyone who has endured my many years of whining about it, and Ms Taylor Swift.
> 
> To meretricula, many years late.

Gerard doesn't remember when they met. It's not as important as the how.

He remembers the first time they played together, looking across in the pre-game huddle and catching Cesc's eye in the gaps between the forest of skinny arms and bowed heads. The jolt that had gone through him at the sharp edges of Cesc's smile, bright and fearless. Grinning back, and feeling ten feet tall. 

He can still close his eyes and see that smile.

 

*    *    *

 

Most of all, he remembers this:

Gerard gets why the skinny guy with the mop top can smile like that as soon as he sees him play. He's as slow as a snail, but somehow no one can get the ball off him; he knows exactly where to pass it to without even seeming to look, and -

When Gerard gets the ball close to goal and sees the kid out of the corner of his eye, he makes the pass without hesitation, and watches with his heart in his throat as the skinny guy takes the ball past a couple of defenders and makes exactly the right shot.

He's so confident about the placement that he never even glances at the keeper. And the first thing he does after raising his arms to celebrate is to turn around and look for Gerard.

See, he knows Cesc inside-out before they've even spoken.

 

*    *    *

 

Cesc's a quiet kid, too quiet for Gerard's liking, but then like his mother always says, with her most indulgent grin, _anyone would seem quiet next to you_. There's so much going on behind his eyes, and Gerard just wants to _know_.

"What if we get in trouble?" Cesc asks, hushed and wide-eyed, the first time Gerard tries to get him to go along with one of his pranks.

Gerard doesn't know what he's worried about. They're just gonna take the battery out of the coach's new cellphone and hide it in Victor's smelly socks. He's done far worse and gotten away with it. More or less.

He grins and says, "we won't," because he already knows how easy it is to fool people with his face.

Later, when they're being scolded, Cesc doesn't say a thing. He just stands there with his head down, and he won't look at Gerard, not even when Gerard elbows him in a way that he knows Cesc finds super annoying.

It's terrible.

"It was my idea, Mister," Gerard's mouth blurts, without permission from the rest of him. "Cesc had nothing to do with it."

The mister laughs. "Now that I can believe," but Gerard's not even listening, because he can see a grin stealing onto Cesc's face.

Gerard did that. He made that happen. It's such a simple thing, and it makes him feel like he just scored against Madrid.

 

*    *    *

 

They're a good group - talented, a little cocky, absolutely fearless. And why shouldn't they be? They wear the _blaugrana_ , just like Guardiola and Figo and Rivaldo. They're used to winning, to crushing all opposition.

In the years to come, Gerard doesn't remember many of the victories. They all start to blur into one after a while. But he can remember everything about losing to Madrid in the Cup final. He remembers trying to keep it together for the medal ceremony, and sitting down and crying his eyes out until he could hardly breathe.  
  
He remembers a small hand being thrust in front of his face, and looking up into Cesc's dry, blazing eyes, and being pulled up into a hug so tight all the air left his lungs.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard doesn't have any concept of a normal kid's life. His parents keep going on about grades, about a future outside of football, but he just can't see the point. Almost everyone he knows, he knows through his life at Barca.

He has the same conversation with his mother many times, and means it every time.

"It's not healthy to spend all your time obsessing about football."  
  
"All my friends do," Gerard says. It's true, but somehow he still sounds like a brat, and his mother gets this faint frown that means it was exactly the wrong thing to say.  
  
She cups his face with her hands. "Listen to me. If you really do make it as a professional, your father and I will be more than proud. But you must always remember, Gerard. Let it be your job, not your life."  
  
Gerard smiles. "Don't worry, mother. I won't let it be anything else."

Maybe normal kids have more free time. That'd be nice, but he'd just get bored. His life is filled to bursting and that's how he likes it.

There's school, there's football, and increasingly, there's Cesc - copying his homework, charming the cooks into giving them extra sweets at mealtimes with a look and a grin, cheating at ProEvo, nutmegging him in practice. Taking his passes from the back and turning them into goals.

He pictures them doing the same in the first team in 7 or 8 years time, and can hardly breathe for the longing that fills him up.

 

*    *    *

 

One night, grandfather has a special dinner guest. It's Louis van Gaal, the mister, who Gerard sees sometimes across the training pitches, almost always yelling in his oddly stilted Spanish.

 _Some of the older kids at La Masia always swore up and down that van Gaal could be nice,_ Gerard tells himself, as Grandfather beckons him up to the table. _He can't be that bad._

Gerard's never had trouble making a good impression on adults. They all think he's adorable with those big blue eyes, and so smart for his age. Somehow, he doesn't think that's going to work this time.

"This is my grandson, a centerback in the youth teams," Grandfather says, voice swelling with pride as Gerard tries not to blush, cursing his complexion.

He gathers himself with an effort, shrugging off Grandfather's hand on his shoulder and straightening to his full height. "It's nice to meet you, Mister."

Van Gaal starts forward, and before Gerard can figure out whether they're supposed to shake hands, he's on the floor, too stunned to be sore.

"You'll never be a Barca defender like this, kid. Toughen up, or you'll get eaten alive," Van Gaal says, not terribly unkindly. From Gerard's vantage point, he looks like a giant.

Gerard doesn't speak for the entirety of the meal, not even to ask for the salt. The story's going to be told over and over, years later, sometimes even by Gerard himself, with a laugh and a wince, and he won't even be the butt of the joke, but he's too young to see that far.

All he knows is that the manager of Barca doesn't think he's strong enough to play for the first team. No bruise can compare to how deep that wound goes.

 

*    *    *

 

The next day, Gerard spends the first five minutes of lunch not saying anything that isn't yes or no, and picking at his food. At first, Cesc's too busy wolfing down everything in front of him with the ferocity of someone who's never seen food before to notice. When he's done, he blinks at his empty plate for a long moment before reaching across with a total absence of stealth to steal Gerard's.

Gerard doesn't even bother to slap his hands away like usual, even though the little shit totally deserves it. (He's bigger, he needs the food more, no matter what the bottomless pit that is Cesc's stomach thinks.)

Apparently that's Cesc's cue to turn and stare at Gerard like he's suddenly grown two extra heads.

"Okay, you're freaking me out. Did something happen?"

Gerard stops even pretending to eat. "It's really stupid."

His voice comes out in a mumble, making Cesc's eyebrows climb into his hairline. "Speak up, I can't hear you."

"I said, it's really dumb. Promise you won't laugh?"

"Now I have to know. Spill."

"Okay, so. Granddad had Van Gaal over for dinner."

"Oh wow. I totally forgot about your family being all fancy and high class. Can't tell from looking at you."

Gerard elbows him. "Stop interrupting. I'm trying to tell a very serious story. Anyway, granddad told Van Gaal I played for Barca as a centerback. Then he - I mean Van Gaal, not granddad - came up to me and pushed me over."

It sounds kind of insane when he says it out loud like that.

Cesc's eyes go hilariously wide. "He _what_? Why? Was your grandpa mad? What did you do?"

"Slow down, Jesus. I'm not finished. That wasn't even the worst part."

"Worse than being pushed over by a really grumpy old dude?"

Gerard's surprised into a laugh. Put like that, it is pretty funny, and it makes the next part easier to say.

"Way worse. He said I'd never play for Barca like that."

"That's why you're acting like a zombie? Shit, Geri! Everyone knows Van Gaal's lost it. Geri? Look at me." Gerard's head snaps up as if he's on strings, and Cesc grins at him like he's Rivaldo and he's just scored a hat-trick. "He doesn't know shit about you. You just gotta show him he's wrong."

He says it like it's already true, and Gerard can't help but believe it.

"Thanks. Now give me back my lunch, I'm starving."

  
  
*    *    *

 

One day a really tiny kid joins them in training, playing right up against Gerard. He scores a hat-trick in twenty minutes flat and Gerard comes as close as he ever has to crying from frustration.

The dwarf's from Argentina, and his name is Leo Messi.

 

*    *    *

 

He doesn't know what to make of Leo at first. The kid's clearly a demon with a ball, but away from it he might as well not exist. He's like two different people. It drives Gerard crazy. It makes him want to do _something_ to shatter the wall that seems to separate Leo from the rest of them.

"Leave him alone. He's just quiet," Victor says, before Gerard can even open his mouth. Apparently, he's just that obvious.

Cesc shakes his head. He's staring at Leo like he does at a packed defense, looking for the perfect pass. "The guy who went past me in training and did it again just for fun - that's him. This is just - cover."

Sometimes it's a little scary, how he can put Gerard's unformed thoughts into words like that.

Across the room, Leo looks up to see them all staring at him like creepers. For once, he doesn't duck his head. Instead, his shoulders straighten out of their usual slouch and he even gives a funny little wave. Before any of them can respond, he jumps up and starts juggling an orange in the tiny square of space over by the benches.

The same blank expression stays on his face the whole time. Gerard would laugh if he hadn't seen something - maybe a tiny quirk of the mouth, smile lines around his eyes, something he'd never have noticed if he hadn't been paying close attention.

"Show-off," Cesc calls out, grinning. Gerard's about to nudge him in the side when he starts counting the bounces out loud, his voice rising in amazement as the number gets bigger and bigger.

They all play with Leo. They've all seen the real him. There's no going back from that.

They just have to bring him out.

 

*    *    *

 

When Gerard asks, his grandfather tells him about Leo's injections, about his family being in Argentina, and how Leo can't play official games because of some dumb registration problem. It explains a lot.

"Do you feel sorry for him?"

It's hard not to, after hearing all that. He nods.

Grandad shakes his head. "Don't. That kid knows exactly what he's doing, and what it costs to do it. Do you?"

"Of course I do!" Gerard says, bristling. He even believes it.

 

*    *    *

 

Later, everyone will say that the three of them bounded over Playstation. It's kind of true. But Gerard knows Leo, at least, doesn't see it that way, because Leo filters everything in his life through what happens on the pitch. To him, everything else is just a consequence, and Gerard more or less understands why once he hears Leo's story.

Gerard remembers hours and hours of Playstation. Mostly, though, he remembers what was said afterwards, the first time.

 

*    *    *

 

On the TV screen, Patrick Kluivert chips Buffon to score yet again before wheeling away to celebrate.

Gerard applauds, almost giggling with delight. "Ooooooh, great goal! Give up yet, Fabregas?"

"Mother of God, that's unfair," Cesc says, throwing down his controller. His mouth twists in a way Gerard recognises as him trying to suppress a tantrum, probably for Leo's benefit. If it were just Gerard, there's no way he'd bother. "How'd you get so good?"

"Practice," Leo mumbles absently, eyes fixed on the screen, which is showing a replay of the goal. "I hate losing."

"I noticed. You're worse than Cesc. I didn't even know that was possible."

He can practically hear Cesc rolling his eyes. "You say that like you're any better."

"Never claimed to be. What's the point of doing something if you're not doing it well?"

That's his mother talking, really, but Gerard doesn't care. His mother is the best person he knows. Plus, he's played with Leo and Cesc long enough to know that they think same way. It's why their training sessions are almost more intense than the actual games. None of them will ever settle for second best.

Cesc catches his eye, and he knows they're both thinking about the practice match earlier, when they'd had a two minute argument over a borderline tackle. "Right, exactly. Be incredible or go home."

Cesc's grin is so bright it could power the Camp Nou. Gerard doesn't see how anybody could be faced with that and not smile back, and Leo doesn't disappoint.

"I - yeah." Something changes with it - the set of his shoulders, maybe, and it suddenly hits Gerard that this is the first time he's seen Leo comfortable, off the pitch. "Can I ask you guys something?"

Cesc and Gerard exchange a surprised look. "Sure, shoot."

"When do you think they'll let me drop out of school?"

"Uh, there are rules about that. I don't think you're allowed until you're 16. Is it that bad?"

There's a lengthy pause before Leo replies, during which Gerard has time to remember that Leo didn't speak a word of Catalan when he turned up, and how long it took for them to get three words out of him in heavily accented Spanish.

"No. It's just..." Leo waves his controller at the screen, where the game is paused on Kluivert being cheered to the rafters by the crowd. "We're gonna play there. Anything else is pointless."

An actual chill runs down Gerard's spine. "You don't ever think about doing anything else?"

Leo raises his eyebrows. "Do you?"

"I do."

Cesc says it casually, like they should all laugh it off, shrugging when Leo and Gerard turn to stare at him. "What? I'm not Mr Genius-New-Maradona."

"Don't make fun," Leo says, ducking his head, going red as a tomato. It makes Gerard want to ruffle his hair, but Cesc's sitting closer, so he gets there first.

"I swear I'm not, Leo -"

"For once."

"Shut up, Geri. Don't listen to him, he lies."

"I do not - "

"Sssssssssssh."

"Don't you shush - umth!"

"Shut up!" Cesc hisses into his ear, having unceremoniously clamped his hand over Gerard's mouth. Gerard's seriously considering biting him when he registers the sound of footsteps.

"Did you hear that?" Leo whispers.

Gerard stops struggling just as Cesc lets go of him to leap for the light switch. He'd completely forgotten about the time.

"Shit, curfew! You two, get in here."

In the mad scramble to get under the blankets, he gets kicked and elbowed at least three times. It's probably not the best plan he's ever had.The three of them hold their breaths like they're playing dead for a bear as the footsteps slow outside the hotel room, only exhaling simultaneously in relief as the footfalls start fading away.

Gerard sits up and has to smother a laugh at the state of the bed, with two lumps huddled under the too-small blanket and limbs sticking out everywhere. By the way the lumps are moving, he's not the only one.

Hauling the blanket off himself with a flourish, Cesc shakes his head, still laughing. "I've never done anything so stupid."

"You sure? How about that own goal you almost scored last week?" Gerard says, and has to duck a flying pillow.

Leo pokes his head out. "You guys are insane." Except he looks like a muppet with his hair all messed up and it just sets both Cesc and Gerard off again.

 

*    *    *

 

They've safely seen Leo and his Playstation off back to his own room with a minimum of muttering and creaking floorboards, and Gerard's just trying to get to sleep, but his brain won't stop whirling. He's not the only one, either. Cesc's tossing and turning in the dark, too.

"Settle down, some of us are trying to sleep."

"If you were trying to sleep you wouldn't be talking," Cesc says flatly, no hint of a joke in it. He sounds kind of upset.

"Woah, okay. Tell me what's up."

"Just wondering how I did in that maths quiz we had on Friday."

Gerard privately thought it had been pretty easy, but he knows better than to say it out loud.

"Leo's right - who cares? You think you're gonna need algebra as a footballer?"

"I might if I end up going to uni."

Gerard's sitting up before he even realises he's doing it. "Shit, Fabregas, what are you thinking?"

"Now who needs to settle down?" Cesc says calmly. "I'm just being realistic. Not all of us are gonna make it here."

He knows it's true in theory. It's just not something he ever thinks about, which is probably how everybody else deals with it too. Everybody else, but not Cesc.

"You're not thinking of giving it up."

It comes out sounding like he's accusing Cesc of being an axe murderer.

"Of course not." No hesitation. "I want it - Christ, Geri, you don't know how badly. I'm gonna keep trying. Everything else is just...back-up."

Gerard flops back down, grinning. "You promise?"

"What are you, a 7-year-old girl?" Cesc retorts, but Gerard can hear his smile.

"I'm not asking you to pinky swear."

"Yeah, all right. Only if you do too."

"Sure. We're all gonna make it."

Cesc snorts. "You're not taking this seriously."

"I am! Leo's gonna be a superstar, we both know that. Barca always needs homegrown defenders, and you're the next Guardiola."

"You think so?"

"That's what I want. So I'm going to make it happen. You just do your bit."

"Okay," Cesc says softly. "I will."

 

*    *    *

 

One day Cesc doesn't call. Gerard tells himself it's stupid to think they have any kind of standing appointment, and Cesc's probably just busy with something, and to wait.

Cesc doesn't call, and he's not at school or at the Masia the next day. No one knows what's up when Gerard asks, and none of the teachers and coaches will tell him anything, only that it's private.

(What does that even mean, anyway?)

 

*    *    *

 

Two days later, Cesc's back at breakfast.

Gerard says hello by messing up his hair. "You bastard. You never write, you never call...where've you been?"

"My grandparents' place," Cesc says, so quietly that Gerard has to lean in to hear, after a long pause in which he listlessly pushes food around his plate.

A cold feeling settles in Gerard's stomach.

"Everything okay?"

"Yes," Cesc snaps, smacking his palm against the table and knocking his fork to the floor. The clatter is loud in the jarring gap of silence at the dining hall - the kind that only ever seems to open up at the worst time possible - and Gerard has to hold his head up and glare until everyone goes back to minding their own business. The flash of naked gratitude on Cesc's face at that is a little terrifying, but it's better than the blankness of earlier. "Sorry. No. My parents are fighting again."

Not exactly news - they don't talk about it, but Gerard's smart enough to have read between the lines.

"Is it bad?"

Cesc nods. "I don't want to talk about it."

The transparent misery all over his face makes Gerard's chest hurt. To have all that following him around, and then having to dread going home all day -

_Fuck that._

"Come home with me after training. You can stay over."

The misery lifts for all of a second. "Thanks, but I should really - "

"Don't even. I'll get my mother to call your mom and talk to the admins. You don't have to ask if you don't want to."

The strange, soft look Cesc gives him at that is entirely new. It makes Gerard want to squirm out of his skin. He almost jumps out of his chair when Cesc's hand finds his under the table.

That isn't new, but something about it feels different. Gerard sneaks a glance around at the emptying dining room, and suddenly discovers that he wouldn't care even if everyone was staring. Their chairs squeak as he pulls Cesc into a hug.

"Okay," Cesc says into his chest. "That...that'd be good."

Gerard brushes his lips against the frown lines on Cesc's forehead as if he could make them disappear and tightens his arms.

"We can work on extending my winning record in ProEvo. What is it, 40-4?"

Cesc's indignant squeak is well worth the bruises Gerard will have tomorrow from his flailing elbows.

"Lemme go, you bare-faced liar! More like 40-4 to me. Hope you're ready to beg for mercy!"

Gerard grabs Cesc's wrists and backs up to avoid getting kicked. He's going to be sad when he loses the reach advantage. "I'm not the one who's gonna be begging."

Once upon a time, they'd have been told off for fighting at this point. Now, no one even bats an eyelash.

"You know he's ticklish, right?" Leo says to Gerard in an undertone as he walks by, swerving to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

"Traitor! I heard that!"

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard's mother agrees right away when he calls to ask and explain, because she is and will always be the best. Even if she shuts down their epic ProEvo tournament ideas.

"Finish your homework, then you can play."

"But mother - "

"Hush, no arguments."

Cesc gives him a wide-eyed look when he subsides without a word. Hey, even he knows better than to piss off his mother. She's in charge of a lot of people, and all of them are scarier than him.

"I'll make sure he's done it all," Cesc says with a shadow of his usual grin, the suck-up. "Thank you for letting me stay over."

Her gaze softens as she looks down at him. "Gerard explained your situation. If you need anything, you just let us know."

Gerard wonders if she uses that particular voice with patients, or if it's just a special power all mothers have, to bring security and comfort with just a few words. Cesc's looking at her with something like awe.

He says "thank you," in a near-whisper, and then his face starts to crumble alarmingly, and Gerard's mother pulls him into a hug so everyone can pretend his shoulders aren't shaking with suppressed tears.

"Come around whenever you want, okay? No need to ask."

 

*    *    *

 

It doesn't get better for Cesc at home.

Cesc thinks everything is his fault. Gerard thinks Cesc would be happier if he just stopped trying to please everyone all the time. But there's no way for Gerard to say that without making Cesc more upset, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Gerard's growth spurts make him clumsy, all limbs and no co-ordination, but that's nothing next to the clumsiness in his brain, making him tongue-tied, making him blurt out the wrong things at high volume. Sometimes he gets worried about what he'll trip up and say next.

 

*    *    *

 

A few weeks later, Cesc gets called away during training. The coaches wave Gerard's questions away and tell him to focus, like they don't know what he's like by now.

When Cesc comes back, he's flushed and his eyes are shining.

"What's up? The coaches wouldn't tell me."

Cesc grins wide enough to split his face open. "The Mister got me something. I'll show you when we're done here."

Gerard shakes his head. "Teacher's pet."

Normally, Cesc would bristle at that - even if it's 100% true - but for some reason he just laughs, which makes Gerard even more curious. The rest of training seems to last forever.

Everything becomes crystal clear, though, when Cesc all but shoves the 'something' in his face. Gerard's about to ask why he's so excited about this season's home shirt when he spots the writing.

"Read it," Cesc says smugly.

 

_To Francesc Fabregas_

_Waiting a few years to see you wear the No 4 at Camp Nou._

_Health. Good luck._

_Pep Guardiola_

 

"Holy fuck."

They all worship Guardiola - it's impossible for a kid educated in the system not to - but it's different for Cesc. As far as Gerard can tell, Cesc might actually want to be Guardiola.

"The Mister wanted to make me feel better, so he asked Pep to sign a shirt for me. He said Pep already knew all about me!"

Considering what Gerard knows about Guardiola, it might even be true.

"Okay, now I'm jealous."

"You know what this means?" Cesc says, hushed and wide-eyed. "He thinks I'm gonna make it."

"Of course you are," Gerard laughs, and he'd write it off as Cesc being Cesc, except -

Cesc's hands have a white-knuckled grip on the shirt, as if someone's going to come and take it away from him. Gerard's not sure he's ever seen him look so happy. It's like someone waved a magic wand and made all his troubles go away.

All of a sudden, Gerard's chest feels tight.

 

*    *    *

 

It takes forever, but finally the club manage to sort out Leo's registration issue and he starts playing competitive games with the team.

They'd been good without him. With him, it's almost unfair.

So it only takes minutes for other teams to wise up and start kicking the shit out of him. He gets hacked down again and again by defenders taking it in turns, never blatant enough for any of them to get carded. Someone else might have been intimidated into trying to do a little less. Leo just picks himself up and keeps going.

The ref's whistle blows again and Gerard thinks, finally, maybe this time one of them will get carded and ease up a bit, but no such luck. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard gets a glimpse of Tito getting up from the bench to protest.

He catches Cesc's eye at half-time and has to shake his head urgently at the look of helpless fury on his face. Cesc can't detach the way Leo does. He gets mad every game, and it always shows. The last thing they need is him getting sent off for dissent or fighting. Gerard jerks his head in the direction of the other team's captain and gets a reluctant nod in return.

He jogs to catch up with the guy, who's almost a head taller. He'd be daunted, except Leo's much smaller than him and he hadn't been scared.

"Hey, you want to stop kicking Messi? Can't you see how small he is?"

That gets him a narrow-eyed glare. "He should stop taking the piss."

The idea outrages Gerard so much that it takes him a moment to think of a response, and by then it's too late.

In the locker room, Cesc checks Leo over carefully with a worried frown, ignoring Leo's half-hearted efforts at batting him away. For some reason, all Gerard can think of is a kitten trying to fend off a friendly dog, and he has to stifle a laugh.

"We've gotta do something, Mister," Cesc says once he's satisfied himself that all Leo's bits are still attached, to a muttered chorus of agreement from the rest of the team.

Tito comes over to them and bends down to look Leo in the eye. "Are you okay to keep going?"

"I'm fine," Leo says flatly, even though they can all see the bruises forming as high up as his thighs. "There's nothing you can do, anyway. We just gotta beat them."

"Be careful. Don't take any risks."

"I know."

Tito holds his gaze for a moment longer before standing up and clapping for everyone's attention. "Okay, boys, you heard Leo. Let's go out and win this."

The second half starts out pretty well. Victor scores another goal off a pass from Leo, and Gerard starts seeing the by-now familiar look of frustrated resignation on their opponents' faces. It's usually a reliable sign that the hard part's over.

The crunch of a tackle gone horribly wrong cuts through all the crowd noise. He can hear it all the way across the pitch.

Gerard's never been blessed with pace, but he somehow gets there first. He sees, in order: Leo sprawled on the ground, Leo's leg bending at a horrible, unnatural angle, and the defender standing over him with his hands on his hips.

His vision goes all red at the edges.

 

*    *    *

 

After what feels like an eternity of pacing, Gerard manages to corner Cesc outside the locker room.

"Is he okay?"

"I think so. The leg's definitely broken. But they pumped him full of pain meds and he's doing fine. Told me to thank you again."

Cesc looks better, too - there's more colour in his cheeks than when they put Leo on the stretcher. The entire team had been standing around frozen, looking about as sick as Gerard felt.

"Fuck. I should have broken that fucker's nose."

"You're in enough trouble."

Gerard's ears are still ringing. He's never seen Tito that mad. Or that shaken, either.

"Don't you dare tell me off for that."

Cesc grins. "I wish I'd punched him myself. You're officially my hero."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"I wasn't kidding. That was impressive, Geri," Cesc says, peering up at Gerard from under his lashes. There's the shadow of a laugh in his bright eyes, and -  
  
Gerard finds himself, absurdly, starting to blush.

"...no big deal. You'd have done the same for me."  
  
"No, _I'd_ have broken his nose."

"God, you're a dick. Why do I even put up with you?"

"Because I'm so handsome and charming, obviously."

Cesc's too-long hair is already in the process of drying into a mess and he's still dripping water onto his jacket. He looks like an exceptionally adorable drowned rat, and Gerard honestly doesn't know what he'll do if that shit-eating grin goes on for much longer.

So he flicks Cesc's ear and grabs him in a headlock. "Not right now, you aren't. I'm gonna call Victor out here and get him to cut your hair."

Cesc immediately starts flailing, but he's not even really trying to get away. That'll happen when he realises that Gerard's serious about the hair. "Get off me, you big oaf! Have you even seen that rat's nest you call hair lately?"

Both of them fight dirty. The downside to which is that Gerard has to keep himself from being bitten or elbowed or kneed somewhere delicate; the upside is that he knows he just has to dig his fingers into Cesc's side and wait for him to start squirming and giggling.

"Hey, not fair!" Cesc says in between giggles and gasps for breath. "Why'd Leo have to go and spill my secret?"

The mention of Leo makes Gerard sober up, and Cesc, catching on to the shift in his mood, stops struggling.

"He was fucking amazing today."

Gerard can feel it when Cesc sighs, his entire body slumping. "Yeah. We've just gotta take better care of him."

If not them, who will?

 

*    *    *

 

It's miserable being out injured. Not that Gerard knows through experience, but if Leo's hangdog face is any indication, not being able to play must really suck.

Gerard and Cesc try to find time to go and see him outside of school, since he's not around in training, and magnanimously let themselves get beaten at FIFA over and over to make him feel better, or so they loudly claim whenever Leo makes a quiet comment about his frankly terrifying winning streak.

 

*    *    *

 

Bit by bit, Leo recovers and makes his comeback.

It's better with the three of them making up the spine of the team, making it function like clockwork, like they've always played together. Sometimes Gerard thinks they could be blindfolded and still find each other.

It's uncanny. It's the most amazing thing Gerard's ever been a part of.

The year is 2002 and everything is golden. They play. They win.

 

*    *    *

 

Before Gerard knows it, it's the next year, and the end of the season is creeping closer. Maybe an international tournament after that, for the luckiest among them (Cesc). The Argentine selectors probably don't even know that Leo exists.

It's a Sunday game, which they win 6-0, and for once even the Mister looks relaxed and happy by the end. Afterwards, Gerard, Leo and Cesc all pile onto Gerard's bed to watch Barca play Alaves in his room.

It's not a very good game, and it gets even worse when Thiago Motta gets sent off. Gerard's irritably working himself up for a rant about how Barca should really be better than this when a small figure jogging along the touchline catches his eye.

He squints at the TV to make sure and reaches over to nudge Cesc in the side. "Hey, look, that's Andres Iniesta warming up."

"Oh yeah, that's him," Cesc says, squirming away and backing into Leo, who's fully horizontal and probably asleep by now. For such a good player, he doesn't seem to actually enjoy watching football. "You know, they say he's even better than Xavi."

"Do you think he's better than Xavi?"

Something odd and unreadable flickers across Cesc's face as he stares at the screen. "I think he's gonna be a regular in a year or two. It's gonna be him and Xavi." Before Gerard can untangle that and work out a reply, he sits up, completely blocking Gerard's view of the TV. "Hey, are there any of those dulce de leche biscuits left?"

There's one more in the paper bag half shoved under Gerard, and he's not giving it up. Leo's mom made them, and they're super amazing. That's how Gerard knows they're friends, because those biscuits are maybe Leo's favourite thing besides football and his nephew, and he's still willing to bring a carton to share when he comes over.

"Nope."

"Liar," Cesc says, rolling over half on top of Gerard and grabbing blindly for the bag.

His hands are cold. Gerard tells himself that's why he shivered. "Urgh, you're blocking the TV, get off."

"Give up the goods then." He still has a reach advantage, but Cesc has leverage and a total lack of compunction about what he has to get his hands on in order to win.

They barely manage to stay on the bed and not cause Leo an injury in the scramble. He's not sure how his hands ended up on Cesc's hips, where his shirt is riding up enough that Gerard can feel cool, smooth skin. They look ridiculously huge and clumsy there, like he could maybe cover the span of Cesc's waist with them.

There's a weird, frozen moment when their eyes meet and Gerard can hear his heart hammering in his ears unbearably loud and he feels like _something_ should be happening, but his brain's far too scrambled to figure out what.

It's broken by Cesc's "AHA!" as he takes advantage of the distraction to snatch the bag and stuff the last biscuit in his mouth.

"Hey - ow, get off me, you bastard," Gerard says, resigned to defeat but determined to be a dick about it. "I think you broke something."

He can feel more than hear Cesc's quiet laugh. "Thanks. Your sacrifice is appreciated."

It's really unfair that Cesc can say something like that and sound like he means it. Especially since he's basically using Gerard's chest as a pillow. Gerard opens his mouth to point out this injustice -

_Shut up, dumbass._

\- and closes it without having said a word.

He glances down, startled, when Cesc starts snoring.

"Are you serious? Christ, Fabregas…"

Cesc shifts so that he's pressed up even closer, his hand clutching the corner of Gerard's shirt. All the air leaves Gerard's lungs in a rush.

There's a long pause, during which he finally notices that the game's finished. Then:

"It's like watching one of those wildlife documentaries," Leo whispers, deadpan.

Gerard's face goes so hot he could probably fry an egg on it. Rather than look up at Leo, he concentrates on rearranging his legs so that they're no longer falling asleep. "Shut up. And hand me that blanket."

 

*    *    *

 

One day, they'll look back on this season and marvel at the unbeatable class of '87, the team that won everything. The league, then the regional championship - in a game that's going to be talked about forever as the final of the mask - and finally, the championship of Spain, against Athletic Bilbao.

Leo can't play because of some stupid bureaucratic problem, and as usual shrugs it off without a single word of complaint. In the beginning, Gerard couldn't understand it. It takes him a few years to learn to read in silences and blank expressions exactly how much it bugs Leo to not play, and see the discipline that keeps any hint of negativity from infecting anyone else.

Before the game, Cesc pulls Leo into a huddle along with Gerard and Victor, like he's going to be playing too.

"Last game of the season, kids. Leo, don't worry, we won't fuck it up for you. Promise."

His face is oddly solemn, but when he catches Gerard's eye, it's with that familiar glint of mischief.

Just like the first time.

 

*    *    *

 

Cesc plays in Leo's position, further forward than he usually plays, further away from Gerard, and he's brilliant. Maybe he's never been better. They win the game, the championship, everything.

Right after the final whistle, Gerard gets a haphazard armful of Cesc, screaming in his ear. "Did you see that? Did you?"

"I was on the pitch, yeah." Cesc punches him in the arm. There's so much adrenaline coursing through his system that it doesn't really hurt. "Ow! No, I did, you were great."

"I wanted - I don't know. To prove that I could do that, just once."

Gerard shakes his head. "Dumbass, everyone knows what you can do."

"Yeah, they will."

Cesc's smile is oddly defiant and Gerard gets the sudden disorientating sense that they're no longer talking about the same thing.

They're both still a little shaky, the adrenaline fading away and bone-deep exhaustion creeping in to replace it, and he's not sure which of them is holding the other up up. Cesc sways on his feet and cups Gerard's jaw with one hand. His eyes are - Gerard doesn't know what that look is, except that he wants more of it. Putting his hands on Cesc feels like completing a circuit, sealing them in a bubble.

After what feels like an eternity, Leo all but falls into them, laughing, and Cesc grabs him and folds him into their hug without even having to look.

"Hey, you did it!"

Cesc ruffles his hair vigorously. "I told you."

"I wasn't worried."

"Uh huh."

"I wasn't. Really," Leo says quietly. Somehow, it cuts through the cheering and the thundering of the Barca anthem. "I trust you."

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard remembers thinking, _this is perfect._

And, _I want this to last forever._

Maybe that's what ruins it.

 

*    *    *

 

Cesc avoids him for the next few weeks. Then he just turns up on Gerard's doorstep one day, out of the blue, not making eye contact and asking to be let in like they're strangers.

They sit in awkward silence in Gerard's room for what feels like hours before Cesc breaks and tells him.

Arsenal. London.

"Why?"

He doesn't even recognise his own voice. It's ugly, borderline embarrassing, the whine of a child. Then Cesc's arms wind around him from behind, and there's a familiar warmth against his back. It's an effort to hold still.

"I'm just trying to make it. Like I promised."

"By leaving the rest of us behind."

"However I have to," Cesc says. He almost manages to get through it without a tremor.

"Shit, what are you gonna tell Leo?"  
  
"Leo's different. He'll understand."  
  
Leo is La Masia's best kept secret, and if the coaches had their say, he'd remain that for a few more years. Trouble is, Leo doesn't conform to other people's timetables. He'll be flying before they can blink. And then it'll just be Gerard.

The thought is horrible. He shakes Cesc off, almost violently, and being able to see his face - that familiar look of determination - makes it even worse.  
  
"Please. Please don't go."

"I have to." This particular smile has always been for him alone. "You're going to hate yourself for saying that in a minute."

"I don't care."

"I can't build my life around you, Geri. Even if I want to."

"Do you?"

"What do you think, dummy?" Cesc says, and he sounds like he's on the edge of tears, which makes Gerard want to slam his head into the nearest wall, except Cesc's hands are bunching in his shirt, and he's being yanked forward, and Cesc's pushing their mouths together.

Something like an explosion goes off in Gerard's brain. When the smoke clears, all he can do is touch the new cut on his lip and stare like an idiot as Cesc backs up, mild horror taking over his face.

"Since when - "

"I don't know," Cesc says in a choked voice, from the doorway.

"Cesc, wait - "  
  
Gerard's never seen him move so fast. Even the line of his back looks defeated.

 

*    *    *

 

The next month is really bad.

Cesc goes off to Finland for the Under-17 World Cup, and he's painfully, predictably brilliant. The break-out star, everyone says.

Gerard's family watch the games together, and Gerard discovers that watching football can be something like a form of torture. He gets a twisted, sour feeling in his stomach hearing the commentators rave about _this hidden gem from Barcelona_ , like a secret that was for him alone is now being shouted from the rooftops.

He hadn't lied to his mother, all those years ago. Football was never meant to be anything more than a (fun, amazing, brilliant) job. And as long as it was a job, he could stuff everything about it in a box at the end of the day and close the lid over it. Loving Barca didn't change that.  
  
The only thing that doesn't fit inside the box - and this he could never have predicted, guarded against, done anything about, not in a million years, because how could he have known?  
  
When he met a scruffy, mouthy little kid from the suburbs and spent the next six years dumping salt in his breakfast cereal how was he to know that this would be the one person who could slice through his defences as easily as he picks out a killer pass on the pitch?  
  
And the most pathetic thing about it, the one thing that just caps it all off, is that he hadn't even realized how much space he'd given up to Cesc until now.

 _I was half in love with you and I had no fucking idea._  
  
It's such a goddamn cliché. Gerard hates that too, being a cliché when he isn't trying to be.

 

*    *    *

 

Everything changes that year. Barca, too. And although Gerard's too young to understand all the politics, he's smart enough to know that the bad blood between the new president and his grandfather can't be good news for him.

When the election results are confirmed, his parents sit him down for a chat after dinner.

"Gerard, there's something we have to talk to you about."

"It's about grandfather, right?"

Gerard's throat feels dry, but his voice is perfectly clear.

His mother gets that little frown where she's trying to figure out what he's up to. "Yes, you're right. There are some...issues with the new president."  
  
"Could it - is it going to affect me?"  
  
"It shouldn't, but...if need be, we might have to think about moving you to a different academy."

Something shifts in Gerard's head.

He knows there were Arsenal scouts at some of their games last season.  
  
It's not yet the right time to mention them. His parents are smart. If they suspect he's not doing it purely for his own career, he's going to catch hell. But if they somehow managed it -

He can't even let himself imagine.

 

*    *    *

  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"

Gerard's not sure how he expected Cesc to react, but absolute fury was fairly low on the list of possibilities. It makes him angry, too. Maybe a part of him needed Cesc to be happy for him.  
  
"You're not the only one who's allowed to leave. Don't you want me at Arsenal?"  
  
"Don't ask that."  
  
"Why not?"

The pause is so long that Gerard thinks he's not going to get an answer. Then Cesc asks, brokenly, "do you know what it took for me to be okay with leaving? I had to tell myself you didn't - that there was no chance - "

Every time Gerard thinks he can't possibly feel worse, something finds a way to prove him wrong.

"Please. Please don't."

"Do you want me to lie? I will, if that makes it better."

"All you had to do was _tell me_ ," Gerard says. He has to force the words past his throat, and he feels like crying, like he just lost to Madrid in a final for the first time and nothing's ever hurt like this before. Except then it'd been Cesc who pulled him up and made him feel better.

"Shit, Geri, how could I? If you didn't already know after - after everything - "

"I can't read minds."

"I was throwing myself at you constantly. It was embarrassing," Cesc says in this awful, quiet voice. Then he sighs, audibly pulling himself together. "Anyway. We both know that's not the most important thing. So don't ask me again, Geri."

 

*    *    *

 

They don't speak for the next six months.

 

*    *    *

 

Given the complete and utter disaster zone that is his current relationship with Cesc, Gerard thinks he really should be feeling less disappointment and more relief at the news that the Arsenal move can't happen - or at least not yet. They want him to wait a whole year.

That's when the offer from Manchester comes in. His father doesn't say anything, but Gerard can see the moment he changes his mind.

"You like the idea of Manchester."

"We'll support you, whatever you decide. But Manchester want you now, and they want you so badly they're prepared to go to court. You need to make the call, Gerard. Do you want to be a footballer?"  
  
_Yes. More than anything._

But Cesc is at Arsenal.

Then Gerard remembers Cesc saying _you're the one who told me I had to try to make it happen_. Not out of spite - he'd been thanking Gerard for pushing him onwards. He never lost sight of their goal, even when Gerard got complacent and started taking their future for granted.

Clearly, Gerard's been thinking about it all wrong.

"I'm not waiting a year."

After all, he made a promise.

 

*    *    *

 

He's not sure what would be worse - Leo being pissed, or Leo not having a reaction. At least anger would be some sort of proof that maybe he's not the only one who cares.

The way Leo's staring at him now is definitely A Reaction.  
  
"What was it you said when Cesc left?"  
  
Gerard winces. "I know, but Leo, you don't understand - "  
  
"Then explain," Leo says flatly.  
  
"I'm not - you're - we're not like you," Gerard blurts out, and watches as Leo takes the words in, the sting and all, in that quiet, strange way of his.  
  
It's true. Leo always has one eye on the present and the other on the horizon, and if Cesc and Gerard are too good for the youth teams then playing against kids his own age has been beneath Leo for a terrifyingly long time. He's going to explode soon, and he knows it.

The Leo glaring at him now doesn't seem like a kid at all.  
  
"So you're allowed to give up? If you've fallen behind, then catch up to me. I won't wait. Even if - even if I'm alone, I'll keep going."  
  
Gerard is too used to a Leo who has become generous with his smiles, and allowed his friends in behind the wall of that old unnerving calm. Too easy by far, now, to forget the solid core of him, the Leo they all got to know on the pitch.  
  
People who've never played with or against Leo probably think he's just a shy kid. And he is - quiet, unassuming, a little distant but nice to a fault. But he's also a genius who decided early on that nothing was going to stand in the way of what he loved.

That person is Gerard's friend. He's a lucky bastard.

"I know you will."

"I have to. You get that, don't you?"

He sounds, suddenly, scarily close to tears behind the steely determination, and it hits Gerard like a kick in the ribs. He pulls Leo's solid frame against him and presses his lips to the top of Leo's head.

"You're going to be amazing."

Gerard pretends he's not tearing up, and Leo pretends he doesn't notice.

 

*    *    *

 

He argues with himself for ages about what to text Cesc. Something that won't make him angrier. Something that makes a reply more likely. Something -

_dude you need a haircut_

It takes all of five minutes for his phone to beep. _whats this i hear about manchester?_

_its true._

_fuck. are you sure?_

_yeah ofc. i did promise_

_pls call_

Gerard stares at the message, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. Cesc hasn't answered one of his calls for...far too long.

_yeah, when its done_

 

*    *    *

 

It rains a lot in Manchester. The weather's dreadful, a cold that Gerard can feel in his bones, but the people are surprisingly warm, so that makes up for it, even if he can't understand a thing they say most of the time.

Even so, he's not used to living on his own. He misses: his father's cooking, his mother's smile, the sun in Barcelona, his old team mates, and Cesc goddamn Fabregas, over in the capital, already getting called up for the first team while Gerard toils in the United reserves.

"These things might seem enormous now, but they'll pass. Just remember that," his mother says, after he spends most of a phone call trying and failing to be stoic about homesickness.

Gerard isn't sure who he'd be if he stopped feeling like this.

"I know. It's okay."

There are no crutches here for him to lean on, unlike at home. He'll either make it or crash and burn, and that's actually a useful thought. That's what'll make him shape up.  

 

*    *    *

 

Cesc sends him a fuzzy cameraphone photo of Highbury. _1ST START!!!_

 

*    *    *

 

Things happen very fast after that.  
  
Sometimes Gerard thinks that England's sapping Cesc, taking all the shine and polish he used to have as a kid and turning him into something else entirely. There are new shadows lurking in the corners of his smiles, an edge in his voice sometimes that Gerard's never heard before.  
  
Cesc is growing into himself in a way no one had imagined he would. And after the team built around him trounces Madrid at the Bernabeu, the whole world knows it.

Gerard watches the whole thing on TV and reads all the glowing coverage with the world's goofiest grin on his face. He's not expecting the call the next day, and has to scramble to reach the phone before it rings off.

"Did you watch the game?" Cesc demands. No _hello_ , no _how are you_. Typical.

"Of course I watched."

There's a pause, and then Cesc says, "fucking hell, Geri. I can't believe the Bernabeu applauded me." He sounds shell-shocked, like he can't quite believe it happened.

"I can. You were amazing."

"I just - I wanted to show everyone that I could do it. That I'm good enough. After everything else this season - "

And there in Cesc's voice is the strain of it. He's carrying so much, now.

It would maybe be easier if the changes put Gerard off, made him want to distance himself. But he only wants to know them just like he already knows everything else.

Gerard's changed, too. Gotten hungrier, more sure of what he wants and how to get it.

The Leo he sees on TV, playing like a fearless veteran against the best, might as well be an alien.

Maybe they all have to become someone else in order to make it. Maybe they're not done changing. He's almost afraid to find out.

"Yeah. At least you're playing regularly for the first team now," Gerard says. He makes sure there's no hint of self-pity in his voice. Things aren't going according to plan yet, sure, but he's going to fix it. Somehow.

"You should think about going out on loan, if they don't promote you soon."

"I don't know. Maybe. Hey, do you think Leo's starting tonight?"

"I hope so," Cesc says gleefully. "I'm looking forward to the surprise on Mourinho's face when Leo knocks them out."

He means it, too. An 18-year-old kid walking all over an expertly drilled, veteran Chelsea team? Sure, why not? It's Leo. He can do anything. Gerard's always known that, but he's still knocked breathless by what happens on Stamford Bridge's potato field of a pitch that night.

"Shit, Leo, I can't believe you."

"I should have scored," Leo replies, like it was just a kickabout in someone's back garden. In the background, a Brazilian-accented voice, shouting to be heard over the general din, says "shut up, kid, you're insane."

Gerard's wondered all his life what it's like in the Barca locker room right after a big win, and now he knows. The thought gives him an unexpected pang.

"Listen to yourself. You know that everyone's talking about you, right? Rio Ferdinand actually texted to ask me where Barca had dug you up from."

"Did you tell him you and Cesc found me in a dumpster?"

"What? No! Stop having a sense of humour, it's confusing."

"Your poor brain," Leo says, deadpan. "Listen, I have to go. See you in the Champions League."

From someone else it might be a dig. Leo just believes in him, and Gerard would hate to disappoint. He'd have to shape up.

 

*    *    *

 

The idea of going out on loan is a good one - he needs to show everyone that he's good enough for Manchester United, and that's difficult to do in the reserves. But making it happen requires actually getting up the courage to propose it to the Gaffer, and Gerard's been around for enough blasts of the infamous hairdryer to be properly scared of how badly that could go.

(The first time, watching that weathered face go redder and redder as Sir Alex built up a head of steam in his barely comprehensible accent, he'd been tempted to go and fetch one of the doctors.)

Gerard's less afraid of him than some of the other kids, though. It's hard to be when Sir Alex used to come up to him every second day and ask how he was doing. There's a side of the man that's more benevolent father figure than thundering dictator. So all he has to do is hope that he still gets to speak to the nice, caring version of Sir Alex and go for it.

 

*    *    *

 

He's pleasantly surprised when the Gaffer readily agrees for him to go out and get some experience, and even suggests a Spanish club.

Zaragoza is nothing like home, but it's the first time he feels properly like a footballer, who's seen not as the funny little brother hanging around underfoot but as an important member of the team. After a few years of treading water, he's finally getting somewhere.

None of it seems real, though, until 12 November, the day they go to the Camp Nou.

It should be a great day, and it starts out that way, even if Gerard's not in the first eleven. He doesn't even get a chance to say hi to Leo, who is, of course, starting, which is almost a blessing. He'd have been fighting the urge to warn him about the boss' rough-house tactics, and Leo would probably give him shit about revealing locker room secrets, the ungrateful little bastard. They can talk just as easily after the game.

Gerard thinks better of the whole thing almost immediately when he's watching Leo get kicked around the pitch by Celades and Zapater, and get up again for more.

_What's Edmilson doing? Where's Deco?_

It's unfair, and he knows it, but a part of him can't help thinking that he'd do a better job shielding Leo from being hurt. And anyway, he should be happy that Leo can barely do a thing to affect the game. Barca aren't his team right now.

He should want them to lose. He -

In the 23rd minute, Leo gets kicked twice in quick succession. He doesn't get back up.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard jumps up when the stretcher comes out, ignoring all the stares from his team mates and craning his neck to see better. He gets a brief glimpse of Leo being carried down the tunnel, head in his hands, and then they're gone.

The rest of the game passes by in a blur, briefly punctured by the moment, both too long and too short, in which Gerard steps onto the Camp Nou pitch for the first time as a professional player.

He's never seen the stands like this before. They're towering, far too close, and it feels like every step he takes on the pitch is being watched and judged by a million eyes.

No wonder teams hate coming here.

 

*    *    *

 

After the game, Gerard uses every trick in his arsenal to beg and cajole his way through to see Leo. He gets a few suspicious sideways glances from Thiago Motta for his trouble, but that seems like a small price to pay when Leo grins at him, adorably fuzzy on pain meds and making wild grabby motions with his arms.

"Hey, you're here!"

Gerard catches Leo's arms and tucks him in with exaggerated care before planting a kiss on his sweaty forehead. "Yeah. Sorry I couldn't say hi earlier."

After a long silence, Leo says, "so when are you coming back?" in a much quieter voice.

Gerard's heart skips a beat. _It's just the pain meds,_ he tells himself.

"Leo, you know that's not how it works."

Leo ducks his head, hands fisting in the hospital blanket. "Joke. Bad one. But you're still wrong. Do you want to come back?"

More than ever, if he's honest.

"I need to prove that I'm good enough first. Not all of us can be you, remember?" Gerard says, smiling to take the sting out of it.

Leo seems to consider this for a bit, before he gives the world's most exaggerated nod. "Okay."

 

*    *    *

 

At first, it seems like a good season at Zaragoza did exactly what it was supposed to. Sir Alex brings him back to Manchester and tells him that he's going to compete for a place in the first team.

That lasts until he horribly mistimes a jump against Bolton and lets Anelka score the only goal in an awful, scrappy game. That day, Gerard finds out what it feels like to have someone he respects look straight through him. It's worse than being given the hairdryer treatment.

Cesc says: "everyone makes mistakes, he'll have to use you again eventually," but what does he know? He's flying high at the top of the league, playing every game.

"Your Mister's nothing like mine," Gerard manages. He knows how Sir Alex treats players when he thinks they're not good enough. If he's somehow stumbled into that category, he's fucked.

United get better and better, overtaking Arsenal at the top of the table, and Gerard remains exactly as fucked as he thought.

Then they come up against Barca in the Champions League semis, and Vidic gets hurt.

It's like the script of a movie.

Barca are in bad shape - excruciating to watch, week in week out, the fans booing even as they scrape through to the semis in an undignified scramble. It hasn't felt this bad to be a cule since Gerard was a kid. He can only imagine what the atmosphere is like in Barcelona.

United are strong favourites, stronger in every department except for the defense, where they need someone to partner Rio.

Gerard wasn't brought up to be superstitious, but football's beat it into him. It's hard not to be when so much depends on chance. Surely Sir Alex would rather play him than a converted centerback. This is his chance. He can already see it in his head.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard doesn't get picked. He watches the entire awful 90 minutes of United bus-parking on the bench, his heart sinking with every minute, and only realises afterwards, watching Cris stomp around with a storm cloud hanging over him, how unbothered he'd been by United's missed penalty.

His head's not in Manchester anymore.

The next day, his mother tells him about the potential offer from Barca.

It's probably the most surprised Gerard's ever been. His brain checks out completely, like he's just been hit over the head, or kissed by Cesc Fabregas.

"But I thought Laporta - granddad - "

"All water under the bridge, apparently. I'm not sure how far I trust that. It's not a concrete offer yet, anyway."

"So what do I have to do?"

"If you're interested - " She smiles at Gerard's fervent nod. "You have to talk to your manager. Ask him to let you go."

 _There's_ the catch.

 

*    *    *

 

The Gaffer just nods expectantly when Gerard asks for a chat. "I wondered when it was gonna come up."

"You know about Barca's offer? How?"

Sir Alex looks at him like he's a BBC journalist, which for him ranks barely just above a cockroach. "I'm not telling you that. Well, kid? What do you want?"

Gerard had thought the whole thing through beforehand, rehearsed this entire elaborate speech.

"I want to go home," he blurts instead. "Please let me go."

"You want to go home? I get that. But we didn't put time and money into you to have you run off."

That narrow-eyed stare has never been scarier. But Gerard thinks of Cesc, flying with Arsenal, and Leo, the best player in a Champions League semi-final, and feels his spine straighten.

"You're not using me because you don't trust me. That's fine, I know I screwed up against Bolton. But I'm not gonna be worth more if I just sit around."

He almost jumps when Sir Alex claps him on the shoulder with enough force to knock a smaller man over.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, lad. Don't waste it."

"Is that a yes?"

"Tell them to make an offer. A good offer, mind," Sir Alex mutters darkly, but Gerard can see the beginnings of a smile around his mouth.

He barely resists the urge go in for a hug. "Thanks, Gaffer."

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard goes a tiny bit nuts during the negotiations. As in, so nuts his dad threatens to block his number, "stop calling, I'll tell you as soon as there's an update," and he suspects his agent's only hanging in there for the imminent paycheck.

What he really needs is a distraction. So he gets into his car and drives all the way to London.

After three minutes of knocking, it occurs to him that Cesc might not be home. He's about to give up the idea of a surprise visit and call when the door cracks open to reveal one baleful brown eye.

"Oh, it's you. Gone all English on us? It's siesta time."

It takes him a moment. "...Carlota?"

In his defense, the last time he saw her she was a lot smaller. And less sarcastic.

The door opens all the way, exposing him to the full weight of Carlota's judgmental once-over. "He's napping. You can come in."

"Thanks," Gerard says dryly, obediently following her inside.

"Sit. Do you want a coke? One of those disgusting sports drinks you guys like so much?"

"Don't accuse me of liking those things. I'm not a weirdo like Cesc. Do you know, one night I got in and I had five messages from him about donuts?"

She cracks a smile at that, and suddenly it's like she hasn't changed at all.

"I believe it."

"So what are you up to? And why are you looking at me like that?"

Oops, he said that last bit out loud.  
  
"Yeah, you did. You know what I thought when I first met you?"  
  
Gerard winces. "Do I want to know?"  
  
"Yep. I thought, if my brother likes them big, dumb and pretty, who am I to argue?" Carlota shrugs. "What can I say, sometimes I'm just plain wrong. That's not you at all - "  
  
"I'm flattered."  
  
"No, you're much, much worse than that," Carlota continues, as if he hadn't spoken. "Dumb and pretty doesn't scare me, Geri. You're one of the only people I know who can change Cesc's mind on anything. That's scary."

Gerard swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "Cesc doesn't make his choices for anybody else."

 _Hell, no one knows that better than me._  

"You think?" Carlota's smile acquires a bitter twist."You know, for a couple of months before he moved to London, all he did was sleep."

He's still trying to think of a comeback when Cesc wobbles sleepily into the room in boxers, rubbing at his eyes, his hair sticking up in every direction. The whole thing tips over into painfully adorable when he spots Gerard, because it takes him a moment to remember that they don't look at each other like that anymore, and rein in his grin.

"Hey."

Gerard clears his throat. "Hey yourself. Long time no see."

"I like it," Cesc says, waving his arm in a wild arc that's probably supposed to encompass Gerard. "The hobo look is really catching on."

"You're the one who had a mullet for years and years," Gerard shoots back, and the next thing he knows, he's got an armful of uncoordinated and barely awake Cesc, and this hug feels dangerous. Like he needed to work his way up to it.

"Missed you," Cesc mumbles into his shirt. Gerard's arms tighten as if by reflex.

"Me too."

Over Cesc's shoulder, he sees Carlota sneaking out of the room. She mimes _I've got my eye on you_ , followed by a weird, aborted wave when he nods, message received.

"I might be going back to Barca," he says, into Cesc's rat's nest of hair, and feels the moment the words register in the sudden tension in Cesc's frame, even before he pulls back to stare at Gerard.

"Holy shit, you lucky bastard." Cesc's face works its way through several emotions before settling on joy. The flash of jealousy is so quick that he'd have missed it entirely if he hadn't been watching for it. "You _have_ to go for it, Geri."

"I am. Believe me, I am."

 

*    *    *

 

_is it done? text me_

 

_text me back you bastard_

 

_seriously don't make me come over there_

 

Gerard shakes his head at the barrage of messages, grinning as he taps out a response.  _calm down idiot ill call you tonight_

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard only lets himself look at the final message from his agent about twenty times. An hour. Just to check that it's actually happening. He can't quite grasp it, at least not by himself.

Cesc picks up his call on the first ring. "So?"

"Hello, Cesc, how are you on this fine day?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you're doing just fine, what with the move to Barca. Speaking of - come on, spill."

"It's done."

He can hear the disbelief in his own voice.

"That's fantastic, Geri."

"Right? I'm pinching myself. Laporta said Pep asked specifically for me."

"What?" Cesc's voice goes up an entire octave. "Are you serious? Now I'm really jealous."

"Like you weren't already," Gerard says without thinking, and immediately wants to take it back. Sometimes he's kind of terrible, and he's no good at covering for it when the other person isn't there for him to smile at.

"Yeah," Cesc mutters quietly. He goes on before Gerard can regroup from feeling like an utter dick to apologise. "But I'm happy for you. I really am."

"You know I wouldn't have got this far without you, right?"

It's true in every way something can be true.

A sharp intake of breath. "Geri, I'm not - I can't - "

"Relax. Just saying thanks."

"Don't mention it."

 

*    *    *

 

On his presentation day, Gerard ends up pinching himself multiple times. It feels like he's walking ten feet off the ground. He can't settle, and he can't stop smiling and touching everything.

He never doubted that he'd make it, because football runs so much on belief, and allowing himself to question the future would bring the whole thing crashing down. But now that he's here none of it seems real.

Ironically, it takes Leo to bring him back down to earth.

"Hey, you're here."

It's been a while since they've seen each other, so Gerard feels perfectly justified in hugging him like a really persistent limpet. When he finally lets Leo pull back, he's grinning wide enough to light up his face, so it must have been all right.

"Yeah, I am. The president said you asked him to sign me."

Leo shrugs. "He asked me what I thought. I just said it was a good idea."

"Thanks. You know what that means to me."

"No, you earned this," Leo says, strangely serious, and the look in his eyes is kind of scary. "That was the easy part, Geri. Now you have to earn the right to play."

"Now you're scaring me."

Leo's smirk is there and gone so fast it feels like a magic trick. "You can take it. Come on, drills are starting. Keep up."

He's gone when Gerard recovers from gaping.

 

*    *    *

 

The first couple of days in Scotland, the others on the team keep giving him stealthy amazed looks. Gerard can't for the life of him figure out what they're for until Sylvinho says, "he must really like you."

Gerard figures out what he's talking about by following the fond, almost fatherly look he's aiming at Leo. As far as he can tell, everyone has their version of the Look.

"We did sort of grow up together."

"Sure. But he actually talks to you. I'm not sure you realise how rare that is."

"Oh. yeah."

Which makes him feel very smug indeed, but it's also kind of worrying. He's not sure how obvious it is to people who haven't learned to interpret Leo's silences and moods, but to him it's absolutely clear that Leo's in a bad way.

The reasons are obvious, too - his best friend on the team just got sold, he's feuding with the club, and half his country's press are hating on him.

It must be lonely to be Leo. Gerard just wants to make that a little better. And thankfully, he's not the only one.

 

*    *    *  
  
  
The first time Gerard trains with Thierry Henry is entirely surreal. He's enough of a Manc to feel a fission of something like fear at the sight of Titi tearing down the wing, and having to defend against him, even in training, is about as fun as pulling teeth. He's so fast, so elusive, and such a dead-eyed bastard.

The man himself is disappointingly ordinary in contrast. Downright personable, in fact, if approached the right way. To Gerard, that's usually 'like a bull in a china shop'.  

"What's with the face?"

Thierry gives one of those perfect Gallic shrugs. "Had press duty."

"Oh, right." Gerard looks him over with exaggerated care, grinning. "You don't look too mauled."

"I forgot, you know all about how it is here," Thierry says ruefully. It's hard to believe that someone like him could be insecure, but that's what Gerard's getting from this conversation.

"Trust me, you're doing fine."

It turns out that the weirdest thing about being team mates with Thierry Henry is when Thierry Henry smiles at you.

"Lot of questions about Cesc today. Did he say something?"

Gerard sighs. "Probably. You know Cesc, he says dumb shit when he thinks it's what someone wants to hear. Remember when he said Arsenal were better off without you?"

"That wasn't what he said," Thierry says quickly.

"That's what was reported. He felt like shit afterwards, but you know why he said it, right?"

La Masia teaches a lot of things other than football skills. For example: Gerard's always known his smile could get him out of trouble, but all the informal media training taught him that it could be a shield, too. And that if you make enough noise, no one will bother to look beneath the surface.  
  
Then again, Cesc and Leo had the same experiences and ended up with completely different conclusions. Leo probably doesn't think of it like that - he probably doesn't think about it at all - but his tranquility is its own kind of armour. That works for him, just like it does for guys like Xavi and Andres.  
  
Cesc, though, Cesc shows more of himself than either Leo or Gerard. Even when he probably shouldn't. Even when he thinks he's being clever. He's good with the media when he's in the right mood, but the old habit of needing to look like the good guy always rears its ugly head.

Thierry nods. "You must be good friends. He wouldn't say that to just anyone."  
  
"Of course we are. I know him better than anybody else."  
  
"Even now?"  
  
"Yeah, of course," Gerard says. He sounds defensive even to himself.

Thierry very kindly doesn't call him on it, although Gerard can tell he's drawing his own conclusions. "He's a good kid, Cesc. Just needs time to figure himself out."

It's sage advice.

 

*    *    *

 

So of course Gerard does the complete opposite.

"Oh my God, are you drunk? How did you even - why are you calling at two in the morning?"

The sad truth is that he can make bad phone-related decisions even without the aid of alcohol when Cesc is involved. All he has to do is brood for too long and bam, he's picking up the phone.  
  
"...I miss your dumb face."

That gets him a surprised laugh. "London's not that far."

"It feels really far away," Gerard says quietly. He doesn't wait for a response - whatever it is can only make him feel worse, especially when he's like this. "Congratulations, by the way. You must be the youngest Arsenal captain ever."

"Second youngest. No big deal," Cesc says breezily.

"When did you get so smug?"

"It's not smugness, it's confidence. I have to be a leader now."

Gerard hopes that his skeptical expression is coming across in his tone. He'd hate to waste a masterpiece. "You're kidding, right?"

"I was. Kind of. It's tough, Geri. Especially without Mathieu and Alex."

Gerard had thought he knew every shift in Cesc's voice, but this one is new. He can't figure it out. Maybe that's why he says it.

"You should think about coming back here."

"Geri, don't joke."

"I'm not. Pep loves midfielders, he'd find a way to use you. Xavi's not getting any younger. Listen - we're building something incredible here. You should be a part of it."

_You should be here. With me._

There are other things Gerard wants equally as badly - a starting spot, trophies, recognition - but nothing he wants more, and that hasn't changed with the years even if so much else has.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Geri, you said it yourself. I'm captain now. My place is here."

He sounds totally convincing. And like he's giving an interview. Gerard just hears _not yet_.

Bull-headed persistence might be the finest of his many fine qualities, if he does say so himself.

 

*    *    *

 

Barca's season starts out a mess and turns into something none of them will ever forget. It's not just they win, although they do win and win. It's how they play, like a tide, like being part of a living, breathing machine, controlled by freaky brain twins Xavi and Andres.

And increasingly, there's Leo in front of them, dancing circles around everyone, shining so bright it hurts to look at him.

It's been too long - long enough that Gerard had fooled himself into forgetting what it was like to play with Leo. How it's not like anything else on earth. Gerard believes in him the way other people believe in God.

With these guys in front of him, it's impossible to feel anything but invincible.

So they can march into the Bernabeu and dominate the play like they're at home, and score five goals, and Gerard can beat Casillas with a beautiful pirouette and score a sixth as if he's been playing center forward all his life, and none of it feels impossible or enormous.

Not until they get back to Barcelona at 3AM and there's a massive crowd waiting at the airport, thousands upon thousands of people waving flags and scarves and filling up the air with _Ser del Barça és el millor que hi ha!_ Then it just feels like the best thing in the world.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard has a very vague memory of the first time he met Pep Guardiola, at some function or another. All the dinner parties his family dragged him to kind of blur together after a while, but he still remembers being dumbstruck when Guardiola looked down and fixed him with those scary-bright eyes.  
  
They'd had quite a long conversation by the standards of an extremely hyperactive seven year old. Try as he might, he can't remember any specifics, and part of him is actually grateful for it. He's pretty sure he spent the entire time nodding and blushing, too tongue-tied to babble like he usually did when adults asked him questions.  
  
His grandfather thought the whole thing was hilarious, he remembers that much.  
  
Pep still has those scary-bright eyes, only now they're even more intense, and Gerard still finds it difficult to look away from him when he's talking. He's older and harder, no longer the shining young prince of Catalunya Gerard's grandfather used to tease mercilessly.  
  
But he still wears his love for Barca like a crown, or maybe a wedding ring. He's still the man Gerard's mother admires enormously and never wants her son to be like.

Not that she has to worry. Gerard can't imagine living the way Pep does. He wouldn't know how.

Pep told them at the beginning of the season that they would end it in Rome and Gerard believed him, because he's not capable of looking into Pep's eyes and thinking anything else. But it's not until Leo leaps impossibly far off the ground, out of the reach of Vidic and Ferdinand, to head home the second goal that he gets it.

All he has to do is believe.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard's barely sober enough to successfully call Cesc, which puts him a couple of steps above some of his team mates, who could barely keep themselves on the open-top bus.

"Aren't you in a parade?" Cesc says by way of greeting.

"In between the parade and the celebration, actually."

The crowd had been the biggest Gerard's ever seen, people lining both sides of every street they pass, shouting and chanting, waving flags from windows. It feels like the whole city's come out to celebrate.

And they made that happen. So many people are happy because of what they did.

"Thanks," Cesc says dryly. "For, you know, for thinking of me."

"I wanted to call. Didn't get a chance yesterday."

"Yeah, I figured. Geri, do you realise how amazing this is? What you guys are doing...it's incredible."

He sounds as happy as any other cule. A little wistful, maybe, but only a little.

"I know. I'm the world's luckiest man."

"You really are."

There's a hard tug on Gerard's shirt, and all of a sudden he's being mauled by a very unsteady Leo. "Gimme the phone."

"I think there's someone here who wants to talk to you," Gerard says, and holds the phone up to Leo's face because he doesn't quite trust him with it right now.

"Heeeeeeey, Cesc."

He can't make out Cesc's reply, said in that soft tone he only ever uses with Leo.

"Everything is awesome. Why aren't you here?" Whatever Cesc says makes him do an exaggerated eye-roll. "Sorry, shut up, I know. I'm just really, really happy, and - and I want you to be happy...Nooooooooooooo, I'm not drunk."

"You're wasted," Gerard interjects, snatching the phone back. "He's totally drunk. It's hilarious, I wish you could see it."

"Doesn't he have to make a speech soon? Leo, don't you have to make a speech?"

"Yeeeeeeah," Leo slurs, grinning up at Gerard. "It's gonna be great."

If by 'great' he means 'watch the shy and retiring best player in the world act like a cross between a hip-hop MC and a drunk gnome', then yes, it is. 

It's also one of the funniest things Gerard's ever had the privilege to witness.

 

*    *    *

 

South Africa is a bit of a blur, when he looks back on it later. But if he can preserve one moment so that it exists in perfect clarity for the rest of his life, it's this:

In the tunnel before the World Cup final, Gerard reaches across and back blindly and is met halfway by Cesc's hand, grasping his so tightly it hurts.

It feels like the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

"We're going to do this, Geri."

He just has to believe.

 

*    *    *

 

Winning the World Cup is life-changing. Gerard can't describe it, but he knows it's true just by looking at Cesc.

On the plane back to Spain, Cesc turns to him with the goddamn World Cup trophy cradled in his arms, and it's the first time in years, maybe since they were dumb kids in the academy who didn't know how to talk to each other, that Gerard can't see any shadows in his smile.

"If it possible to be happier than I am right now, it should probably be outlawed."

"First of all, that makes no sense. Second, since when did you have such a defeatist attitude? There's always more out there. You have to believe that. Otherwise there's no point."

"It's not defeatist. Uncomplicated good things are just rare."

"Depends on how you look at them."

"There's no good solution sometimes, no matter how you look at it. And that's okay. That's life."

"You deserve more," Gerard says, and he lets himself look Cesc in the eye, and he doesn't hide.

Cesc just smiles wider, like Gerard's the one who's missing something. "I don't know where you got the idea that I'm some sort of martyr, Geri."

"Maybe because you won't go after what you want."

"I won't miss the train when it comes around. Don't worry," Cesc says breezily. The next time Gerard looks over, he's fast asleep.

No one can get his hands off the trophy.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard doesn't worry. He gets shit done. Even when it means involving an honourable elder statesman like Puyi in an underhanded scheme.

Sometimes he still has to stop and marvel at the fact that he can even propose underhanded schemes to Carles Puyol, Barcelona captain and all-around shining example of Catalan manhood. By all rights the two of them shouldn't even get along, let alone be friends. They're living proof that opposites attract. Gerard likes to think that he's introduced the foreign concept of 'fun' into Puyi's life, and he has to admit that he benefits from having someone to keep him in line on the pitch. Sometimes literally.

"Pep is going to kill us," Puyi mutters. He means it, too.

"Nah, he'll have bigger fish to fry. Besides, this isn't an official club thing. Just a couple of us goofing off. He can blame it on me being a crazy moron."

Puyi grins dementedly. "At least you know that. What about Cesc?"

"He can blame it on me too. Easier that way."

"Not what I meant."

"It's his goddamn pathological need to be liked. If he'd just give up on keeping everyone sweet - "

Puyi shakes his head. "He'd be a very different person. I'm not sure I'd want to know that person."

"Come on, are we doing this? I promise it'll be fun."

It's not big and it's not smart, but it's something. And Gerard needs to do something.

"You always get me in trouble," Puyi sighs. "All right, let's get Pepe in here."

 

*    *    *

 

The whole thing with the Barca shirt goes off more or less as it's supposed to, right up until they get off stage and Cesc's dragging him by the collar into the nearest empty room and slamming him against the wall. Which is about as good for sudden sobriety as having a bucket of ice water poured over his head.

"Okay, okay, let go."

Cesc whips his head around to check that the door's closed properly - typical - before getting in Gerard's face again. "What the fuck. What the fuck was that? You know what that's gonna look like, me with a Barca shirt on?"

"We forced it on you. Everyone can see that."

"Don't play dumb, it's not funny. You have to know what the press are gonna do with this."

Cesc looks as angry as Gerard's ever seen him, and it makes his brain quiet down for the first time since the plane.

What was he even trying to accomplish?

"'I'm sorry," Gerard finally manages, in a small voice. "Believe me, I'd never have done anything if I thought you wouldn't be okay with it."  
  
Cesc's shoulders slump, and he loosens his death grip on Gerard's shirt. That one awful time aside, he finds it hard to stay mad at Gerard. It's one of those things that Gerard finds endlessly reassuring, even if he'd never say anything to tip Cesc off.  "Just tell me why. And no bullshit. That wasn't for a laugh."  
  
"No, but I wasn't thinking straight either," Gerard mumbles in the vague direction of Cesc's shoulder.

Cesc snorts. "Obviously."

"I just want you to come back. Don't you?"

"Of course. But it's not that simple."

"It is if you want it to be."

"I can't come back for you," Cesc says slowly, sounding as if each word hurts, and cups Gerard's face, forcing him to meet his red-rimmed eyes, his face so open and unguarded that it might as well be a fresh, gaping wound. "Do you get that?"

Gerard knows that he's a lucky bastard with every advantage in life who's managed to stumble into one amazing thing after another. Except in this one thing, where no matter what he does, he can't seem to stop making it worse. Cesc looks lost, and Gerard's a master with people, always has the right words, but he has no idea what to say to fix this.

So he does the only thing he can do and slides his fingers into Cesc's feather-soft hair, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth, fitting their bodies together. For a long, warm moment everything is fine. They're both smiling when Cesc pulls back.

The words burst out of Gerard like a dam breaking. "Don't do it for me, then. Do it for yourself."

For some reason that actually makes it worse again. He can see it in the way Cesc's eyes darken.

"I gave the boss a commitment."

The thing that pisses him off most is that Cesc means it, just as much as he does about wanting to come back. Gerard untangles himself from Cesc, paces all the way to the other end of the room, and manages to stop the first three things that want to come out of his big mouth.

"Sure, you're committed, but what about everybody else? They keep selling around you, can't you see it?"

"It's only a few more years til the finances get better," Cesc says, with less than perfect conviction. "We're close to doing something, I can feel it."

Gerard wants to laugh. Or maybe slam his head into the nearest wall. "Don't delude yourself. Arsenal do the same thing every year. Everyone knows that. How many years have you got left?"

"Shit, don't you get it, Geri?" Cesc starts pacing too, raking his hand through his already messed up hair. "How can I go back empty-handed, begging to be let in? They all remember the way I left."

"You won't have to beg. We all want you back. Everyone's said it often enough."

"Yeah, well, talking's not enough."

"That's not it, though, is it? You just don't want to upset anybody in London."

That stops Cesc in his tracks. When he speaks again, his voice is like nothing Gerard's ever heard, shot through with ice. "Of course I don't. I'm sorry if you don't get that."

"I don't get how you can let something like that stand in your way."

"You mean _your_ way."

"No. I don't," Gerard says quietly. "Face it, Cesc. You'll get to come back when you're ready to force it through."

"I'm not going to do that."

"I know."

Gerard doesn't want to know what his face looks like.

 

*    *    *

 

  
Back in Barca training a month later, Leo twirls past him with an inch-perfect pirouette before Gerard can even stick a leg out. Two minutes later, he does it again.

Leo's merciless on the football pitch, but he's only deliberately a dick about it when he's annoyed about something. Gerard puts his foot through the ball, booting it out of bounds.  
  
"Okay, what."

It takes Leo a few moments to realise that they're not playing anymore. Another few to process that talking is now on the agenda. "What's going on with you and Cesc?"

Gerard sighs. "It's a long story."

"I've got time. Nothing on after training."

He sounds serious enough, but Gerard can't shake the feeling that he's being made fun of.

"When did you get so snippy?"

"When you weren't paying attention, I guess," Leo shrugs, but he doesn't bother to hide his pleased grin.

 

*    *    *

 

After training, they go to Leo's new place, which is barely furnished and therefore more than a little creepy.

"You have to get a decorator in," Gerard says, gesturing around at all the empty space in the lounge. "This is no way to live."

"Anto'll take care of it when she gets here. Don't try to change the topic."

"Since when did you want to talk about anything?"

Leo glares at him balefully. "Since I got a really weird phone call last week from Cesc and he seems to think the world's ending."

"Yeah, well, you saw the Barca shirt thing, right?"

He gets a blank look in response.

"Seriously? At the celebrations in Madrid. It's been all over the press."

"Oh yeah, I heard something about that," Leo says with his usual cheerful lack of regard for anything that's not football.

"See, no big deal."

Leo narrows his eyes like he's looking for a gap in a backline. That's a new expression, unnervingly calculating, the kind of thing Gerard would never have suspected him of as a kid. "What else happened?"

"I...mighthaveaccusedhimofholdinguphismovebackbecausehedidn'twanttoupsetanybody."

"Say that again?"

"I just pointed out that he had to force the move through. Not...nicely. And he said he wouldn't."

Leo briefly looks very, very confused. "Oh, okay."

"I can't get through to him, Leo," Gerard says heavily. "Maybe you can."

Leo shrugs. "He'd be happier without - what's the saying? Rose-coloured glasses. If he remembered us like how it really was."

"I don't think he's capable."

"He's not the only one," Leo mumbles under his breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Home isn't the same after you leave. You know that."

For Gerard, all the changes are for the better. But he knows that's not always true. It's especially not true for Leo, who left home so early and still bears the scars where he thinks no one can see them.  
  
"He's not gone forever, Leo. It's like - he went on a trip, but he's gotta come back some day."  
  
Leo raises his eyebrows. "I don't think that's how it works."  
  
Some part of him knows that. But that part's never been in charge. "Yeah, it is. You'll see."

"I don't want to see either of you get hurt, Geri," Leo says, serious as a heart attack. "Be careful."  
  
"I don't know if I'm the one you should be saying that to."  
  
"Yeah, but you're the one who's here. Cesc doesn't need to hear it from me."

As far as Gerard can tell, Leo's relationship with Cesc is a very different beast these days.  
  
The few time Gerard's been in a position to just observe the two of them, he'd been a bit weirded out by it. Cesc's doting and tender with Leo and makes Gerard feel like a voyeur even when they're just talking. And Leo is himself, but without any of the shaper edges he's acquired as an adult. Gerard suspects it only works because they're apart, and playing their younger selves for five or ten minutes isn't much of a challenge.

"Maybe he does."

"I can't," Leo says flatly, sounding almost upset, and Gerard wants to hit himself. Cesc and Leo have their own conflicts, their own secret codes. He's an idiot to forget that. "Look, just make up with him. You've been pissy for weeks."

"Shit, really?"

"Yeah. Talk to Pep."

"He's going to kill me."

"Only a little bit," Leo says, then he's curling up into a ball of giggles.

If only the rest of the world could see Mr Best Player in the World like this.

 

*    *    *

 

As far as Gerard can tell, Pep basically lives in his office in the sports center, a monstrosity of glass and modern furniture from which he has a fantastic view of the main training pitches.

Gerard makes a lot of jokes about being the most normal person he knows, but it might actually be true.

Pep's busy watching a Madrid game and taking notes when he pokes his head through the doorway.

"Hey, boss. Can I talk to you?"

"Sure. Come in. What's this about?"

Gerard sinks onto the surprisingly comfortable coach, buying himself a few seconds before the inevitable.

"You can probably guess."

He's kind of a coward sometimes. Unfortunately, Pep isn't in the mood to indulge him.

"I want you to tell me."

"Okay. I - I really thought Cesc would be playing for Barca this season."

"To be honest, so did I," Pep says ruefully.

"We botched the signing."

His reward for stating the obvious is an exceedingly patient look. "Ask your question."

"Are we gonna go back for him?" Gerard blurts, and has to refrain from slapping his forehead with an effort. Real smooth, genius.

He's amazed to see Pep's face soften. "Football isn't only a game of possession, not even for Barca. It's also a game of space. Do you understand?"  
  
"I - "

 _Maybe?_  
  
"Be patient. Everything will work out, I guarantee it."  
  
When other people say that, it's meaningless reassurance. But Pep is different. He only predicts something when he's going to make it happen, and he's never failed Gerard yet. He'd ordained a place for Cesc at Barca years and years ago. Surely he's on Gerard's side.

"I just want him to come home," Gerard mumbles, ducking his head under the weight of Pep's gaze.

"Gerard, it's not my place to say this, but have you told him that?"

"Too many times. It's embarrassing."

"Does he know what you mean?"

"I - Mister - "

When he looks up, Pep's no longer on the other side of the couch, but right next to him, reaching out to cup his face with both hands and forcing his head up. "Think about it. We both fought to come home. It was clean enough for you. A little bloodier for me. If he wants it, he'll have to get bloody, too."

"He hates that - having to get his hands dirty, can't stand it," Gerard says, his mouth dry.

"Cesc's a smart kid. Maybe the best thing for us to do is believe that he'll find a way."

"You think he will?"

He sounds so desperate that it's really kind of pathetic, but he's past caring. Anyway, Pep's stroking the frown lines on his forehead with his thumb like he wants to erase them and it's doing a hell of a number on Gerard's concentration.

"I believe it."

"What would you say to him? If you were me?"

The corner of Pep's mouth quirks. "I could never be you, Gerard."

"Please."

"I'd tell him that winning is a wonderful feeling, but nothing beats winning at home."

Like Xavi always says, it's about pride and ownership and belonging. And being able to share that feeling.

Once again, he's been thinking about it all wrong.

 

*    *    *

 

Gerard calls Cesc with his heart in his throat, hoping fervently that he's not being treated to another six months of Cesc blocking his calls and deleting his texts. This is why they need to live in the same city - it's way easier to make up in person.

Miracle of miracles, Cesc picks up on the first ring.

"I'm sorry," they both say, in a mad rush, and burst into laughter at the same time.

"Call it even?" Gerard suggests hopefully.

"Yeah, of course." Cesc doesn't say anything for a long moment, until Gerard starts wondering if he's fallen asleep. Then he asks, very quietly, "do you think I'm terribly, terribly selfish?"

"Yes," Gerard replies. "So am I. That's why I keep asking you to come back. Do you want me to stop?"

"No. Never. Don't you dare give up on me."

"Okay. Just remember you're the one who told me to keep going."

Cesc laughs. "I'll try."

 

*    *    *

 

Like he promised, Gerard doesn't stop pushing, in public and in private. He knows that it's borderline inappropriate and pisses people off. He just can't bring himself to care.

Cesc cares enough for both of them, anyway.

 

*    *    *

 

He gets a call from Cesc the morning after the night Barca beat Madrid at the Bernabeu. The first few minutes are mostly swearing.

" - and oh my God, you have no idea how fucking frustrating that was to watch. Leo's goal, though. What the fuck was that? I shrieked loud enough they probably heard me in space."

"Yeah, I know," Gerard says, when he can finally get a word in edgewise. "He's impossible. Can you imagine what would have happened if we lost, after all the build-up?"

"Let's not. Come on, you're one game away from another final. Focus on that."

"Yeah. I'm trying. There's just so much noise."

"Just think of how much I want to be in your place," Cesc says. He sounds a little too casual, or maybe all after these goddamn Clasicos Gerard's finally losing it.

Either way, he's going to ask. Gerard takes a deep breath. "Are you ready to come back?"

No matter what the answer, he tells himself firmly to not be a dick about it. He's not remotely ready for what Cesc says instead.

"End of this season, Geri. I'll do what it takes to make it happen. My way."

It takes Gerard a couple of tries to achieve speech, but at least he knows exactly what to say. "I know you will."

"So just wait a little longer, okay? I promise."

"Uh, sure, of course. Can I just - why now? What changed?"

"I'm not moving forward here, not anymore. Year after year, the same thing happens. I look at you and Leo and Puyi and I'm just sick with jealousy. I want what you guys have."

There's something in Gerard's eye. Sand or whatever. At least that's the story he's sticking with. "What about the backlash? You know there'll be one no matter what."

'If I can handle you, I can handle anything," Cesc says fondly.

 

*    *    *

 

A few weeks later, Leo comes up to him in the locker room, looking hilariously furtive.

"Is it true?"

"Hmm?"

Leo punches him in the arm. "You know what I mean."

"I thought you didn't care," Gerard drawls.

"Gerard, you're being a dick."

Fair enough. To apologize, he envelops Leo in a bear hug and messes up his newly cut hair. "Sorry, sorry. Yeah, it's going to happen. Cesc's coming home."

"Okay then," Leo says, and for once Gerard has no idea what that tone means.

 

*    *    *

 

Cesc flies in for his presentation beaming like the happiest man in the world. Or maybe the second happiest - Gerard hasn't checked a mirror since this morning. From the way Cesc's looking at him, his face must be fairly ridiculous.  
  
"Stop looking at me like I'm gonna disappear."

They're sitting in one of the Camp Nou offices, waiting for Cesc's agent to thrash out the last couple of wrinkles in his contract with the president. Tomorrow Cesc puts pen to paper in front of a camera and gets to pull on a Barca shirt for real.

"Sorry. I just - it's hard to believe that you're here. For good."

Cesc scoots closer, resting his head on Gerard's shoulder with an ungentle thump. "Believe it."

Gerard curls an arm around Cesc's waist and kisses his forehead. They fit so well together. He's known that since the beginning, and he never stops marvelling at it. "There'll be a lot of press tomorrow. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Sure. I'm used to it."

"Not worried about what they're say?"

"Not anymore," Cesc says into his chest, voice soft like they're back in a hotel room in Turin after curfew. "I don't really remember what I was like before you, Geri. Sometimes that scares me. But you taught me everything I know today about how to be happy."

"We haven't even been in the same city for 8 years," Gerard protests, because he's a dumbass who always says the worst thing.

Thankfully, Cesc stops his flailing idiocy by pulling him down by his shirt and pressing his mouth against Gerard's. His lips are chapped because he never drinks enough water, and his breath tastes like the obnoxiously sweet chewing gum he's been addicted to since he was twelve. Gerard doesn't know where to put his hands at first, but he already knows Cesc's body - everything from where he's ticklish to the story behind all his scars.

It's like coming home.

When they pull apart, Gerard makes an embarrassing bruised noise like someone just socked him in the stomach, and Cesc's grinning like he does after winning a hard-fought game, joy and just a hint of viciousness.

"Now will you listen? I chose to go to Arsenal, you chose to go to Manchester, and for a long time I thought that was it. But Geri, growing up together wasn't a choice. It just happened. Every time I called you from London, that was a choice. And this is, too. I'm choosing to be happy, here. With you."

 

  
  
Gerard is:  
  
\- clever  
\- loud  
\- obnoxious and/or charming depending on his mood  
\- ambitious.  
  
He's convinced he'll be president of Barca one day, and probably club captain before that.  
  
He can't picture the person he'd be without Cesc, and he doesn't want to.

 

  
  
take this sinking boat and point it home

we've still got time

raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

you'll make it now

 

falling slowly

eyes that know me

and I can't go back

moods that take me

and erase me

and I'm painted black

 

you have suffered enough

and warred with yourself

it's time that you won

 

_the swell season - falling slowly_

 

 

 

**Background Notes**

* * *

1\. The [baby dream team](http://www.independent.co.uk/sport/football/european/fabregas-messi-pique-class-of-2002-1928682.html) is the popular nickname of the [Barca class of 1987](http://ontd-football.livejournal.com/2011576.html), after the Barcelona Dream Team of the early 90s who won La Liga 4 times in a row and Barca's first Champions League. They were so named because they were also tremendously successful. In their best season, 02-03, they won every competition they entered. Alumni include Gerard Pique, Cesc Fabregas, Leo Messi, Victor Vazquez (Club Brugge), Marc Valiente (Real Valladolid), Marc Pedraza (Numancia), Toni Calvo (Anorthosis Famagusta), Franck Songo'o (PAS Giannina).

2\. The [Barcelona youth system](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-1261064/Lionel-Messi-Cesc-Fabregas-Gerard-Pique--forged-Barcelonas-hothouse-champions.html) is colloquially referred to by those outside Spain as La Masia (the Farmhouse), after the 17th century farmhouse that used to house the boarders in the youth system until very recently.

3\. Gerard's mother, Dr Montserrat Bernabeu, is an amazing lady in her own right. She is the head of the brain injury unit at Institut Guttmann in Barcelona.

4\. “He (Cesc) and Gerard are good friends, they speak on the phone every day. Cesc often came home with Gerard, well to be honest he spent more time at my home than in his. Well, by that moment Cesc had problems at home, his parents were divorcing and Pique was always near to him.”

"Gerard has always been outgoing, but Cesc talked little. Gerard changed that.”- Amador Bernabeu (Grandfather of Gerard Pique)

5. Journalist: "Is it true that Piqué would defend you when the other players tried to kick you as a child?"  
Messi: "Yes, he was already tall and we were very little. "Daddy" [Piqué] would protect all of us." [[Source](http://elpais.com/elpais/2012/10/01/inenglish/1349107781_301086.html)]

6\. Leo's leg was broken by a tackle in one of his first official games for the Barca youth teams.

7\. Pep Guardiola was the first big success of Barcelona's youth system, who went from ballboy to key player to captain and became a legendary figure at the Camp Nou. He returned in 2008 to manage the side, and the rest you probably know.

8\. _In 2001, Cesc Fabregas was going through an unhappy period personally. Aged 13, he was a highly promising midfielder in the Barcelona youth system, but had been devastated by the news that his parents had started divorce proceedings. Like any youngster who is told that, future superstar or not, it was a huge blow._ _Fabregas' youth team coach at the time, Rodolfo Borrell -- now doing a similar job at Liverpool -- called on Fabregas' hero to help cheer him up. He went to Pep Guardiola, then the Barcelona captain, and asked him to sign his No. 4 shirt for Fabregas. "Dear Francesc Fabregas," Guardiola's message read. "I'm waiting a couple of years to see you in the No. 4 shirt for Barcelona."_ [[Source](http://espn.go.com/sports/soccer/news/_/id/7347975/cesc-fabregas-evolution-arsenal-barcelona-michael-cox)]

9\. Here's a [pic](http://i60.tinypic.com/zxjzv6.jpg) of the shirt. 

10\. Cesc: "...I never thought I was going to be a footballer."  
Interviewer: "Seriously?"  
Cesc: "Never, not even when I reached the ‘Cadete’ level at Barça [in the club’s youth set-up]. What you want, what you dream about, is one thing; but I was more focused on studying, on my friends. On leading a normal life for a 16-year-old." [[Source](http://as.com/diarioas/2013/12/27/english/1388173184_896245.html)]

11\. The timing of the change from ProEvo to FIFA is absolutely deliberate. Sometime in the early 00s, FIFA overtook ProEvolution Soccer among footballers as the most popular series of football video games.

12\. Tito Vilanova managed the Baby Dream Team in in 2002. He was the first manager at Barca to play Messi as a center forward.

13\. I wrote about the final of the mask in [one of my first football fics](http://archiveofourown.org/works/102326). It's extensively recounted in Balague's book, which also recounts the story of the final against Athletic Bilbao.

14\. In 2003, Cesc Fabregas led Spain to the final of the U17 World Cup, where they lost to Brazil. He finished the tournament as top scorer and Golden Ball winner. He also famously told the Argentines after beating them in he semifinal that they'd left their best player (Messi) at home and would have won the tournament had they thought to call him up. (The Argentines followed his advice for the next U20 World Cup and promptly reaped the promised rewards.) I know, the depth of Cesc's belief in Leo gives me feels too.

15\. Gerard Pique's maternal grandfather Armador Bernabeu was at one time a director of Barca. It has been reported that Bernabeu's bad relationship with Joan Laporta, the man who won the Barcelona presidency in 2003, had something to do with Gerard leaving the club.

16\. Gerard's move to Arsenal is a thing that almost happened, to the extent that Barca and Arsenal had even agreed a deal. But Arsenal wanted Gerard to wait a year due to contract issues, and that's when Manchester United came along. Barca and Manchester United actually went to the Court of Arbitration for Sport over this. Here's a link to the decision ([PDF](http://jurisprudence.tas-cas.org/sites/CaseLaw/Shared%20Documents/691.pdf)), if you're curious. 

17\. Gerard and Cesc reference their six month fight (over a "romantic friendship problem") in Gerard's Informe Robinson program.

18\. If you want an idea what it was like for 16 year old Gerard, living by himself in Manchester, [this is a very good article](http://www.theguardian.com/football/2009/may/24/gerard-pique-barcelona-champions-league).

19\. In the round of 16 of the 05-06 Champions League, a young Arsenal team enduring a difficult domestic season went to the Bernabeu and beat the aging Galacticos of Madrid 0-1. (They held Madrid 0-0 in the second leg to go through and eventually reached the final.) Cesc was one of the best performers on the night and was applauded by the Bernabeu. The very next night Barcelona went to Stamford Bridge, where they'd lost 4-2 the previous year, and beat Chelsea 1-2. The breakout star of the night was Leo Messi.

20\. Gerard has said that Sir Alex was a second father to him in Manchester.

21\. In 06-07, Gerard went on loan to Real Zaragoza, where he played regularly and established himself alongside future team mate Gabi Milito. He was on the bench when tackles from Zapater and Celades broke Leo's metatarsal in late 2006 and came on for his first appearance at the Camp Nou later on in the game.

22\. [Here's](http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/football/eng_prem/7099689.stm) what happened in that Bolton game.

22\. In 07-08, Barca and Manchester United meet in the semi-finals of the Champions League. Cristiano Ronaldo missed a penalty and United drew 0-0. They went back to Old Trafford and won thanks to a great goal from Scholes and a great defensive performance. A half-fit Messi was Barca's best player.

23\. Carlota is Cesc's sister. She's great.

24\. Cesc and donuts: [a love affair](http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport2/hi/funny_old_game/7067348.stm). 

25\. Pep Guardiola's first pre-season was spent in Scotland. It was a difficult time for Leo because the club had just sold Ronaldinho and Deco, two of his closest friends on the team (Sylvinho is the other one), and gone back on its promise to release him for the 2008 Olympics. Because of Barca's refusal, Leo was also getting huge amounts of stick in the Argentine press. (Fair? Nope. But that's Leo's relationship with Argentina for you.)

26\. [I wrote a fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/102327) about the Henry/Arsenal/Barcelona thing that discusses Cesc's comments about Arsenal after Henry, if you're interested. 

27\. Interviewer: "Staying on that topic, can you clear up a doubt we had? What does “moc, moc” mean?"  
Gerard: "(Laughs) Ah, that doesn’t really mean anything. (Laughs again) It’s an expression that me and my friends [Carles] Puyol and Cesc [Fabregas] use on Twitter which means “I’m thinking about you”. It’s also because Cesc lives over in London and sometimes it feels like he’s very far away. It’s a way of bringing us all closer and keeping in touch." [[Source](http://www.fifa.com/world-match-centre/nationalleagues/nationalleague=spain-liga-2000000037/news/newsid/137/018/5/index.html)]

28\. Cesc was made Arsenal captain in November 2008, at the age of 21. Before the beginning of that season Arsenal lost midfield stalwarts Alex Hleb and Mathieu Flamini, both of whom had been good friends with Cesc. A young Arsenal team made good progress until the second half of the season, when their title charge eventually fell away and they were knocked out of the Champions League by Manchester United.

29\. Interviewer: "Probably one of the happiest thing you could experience is that your friend comes home. If Cesc Fàbregas comes home for you would be more than a player?"   
Gerard: "For sure, between him and I is a friendship that has lasted many years. It is something that makes me proud because we have known each other since Alevin [Barca's U11 team] and have shared a lot together. I know his desire to wear the Barça shirt one day, and I’m not being an egoist, I don’t want him to come only for me, but for him and his dream. I realized my dream and I’m wearing this shirt and I know the satisfaction of wearing this shirt so… I wish to him the same."

30\. Barca's 08-09 started with a loss and a draw and ended with a treble unprecedented in Spanish football. They were hailed as one of the best teams ever. One of the highlights was a spectacular 2-6 victory over Madrid at the Bernabeu in which Gerard scored the 6th goal like this (8:30 of the video). The team were welcomed back to Barcelona with a reception that [made even a cool veteran like Eidur Gudjohnsen marvel](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/sport/football/article-1187509/Gudjohnsen-life-Barcelona-Peps-new-camp-ruthless.html). 

31\. _Ser del Barça és el millor que hi ha!_ is a popular chant for cules. It translates roughly to 'being a Barca fan is the best thing there is'. Here's [audio](http://stickmarionette.tumblr.com/post/21837052856/something-strange-happened-in-the-dying-moments-of) of Camp Nou singing it 

32\. Pep told his players [at the beginning of the season](http://www.independent.co.uk/sport/football/european/eidur-gudjohnsen-bar231a-have-huge-stars-but-the-key-man-is-guardiola-2288198.html) that they would end it in the Champions League final. They did. And Leo scored [this goal](http://stickmarionette.tumblr.com/post/100066200204/10-for-10-favourite-leo-messi-barca-goals-4-10).  

33\. If you haven't seen [drunk Leo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BVG_Vd9vaYY) at the 08-09 treble celebration, you're missing out. 

34\. Carles Puyol, ex-Barcelona captain and all around shining example of Catalan manhood, is best friends with Gerard Pique. [Even they will admit that this is very strange](http://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2011/may/26/gerard-pique-carles-puyol-barcelona). 

35\. The shirt thing referenced is this ill-advised prank [right here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVtcKaT5wbk) (video link).

36\. Anto is Antonella, Leo Messi's long-time partner.

37\. Barca very much wanted to sign Cesc for 10-11, but went about it with their usual level of competence (none) and failed miserably while attracting a whole lot of scorn. (They signed Mascherano instead. Which is not even close to the same thing, however amazingly that worked out.)

38\. The Madrid game Cesc and Gerard talk about is Barca's 0-2 win in the Champions League semi-final first leg, in which Leo scored [this amazing goal](http://stickmarionette.tumblr.com/post/100310293959/10-for-10-favourite-leo-messi-barca-goals-1-10#notes). That link also has all the juicy background details. 

39\. Cesc never broke ranks at Arsenal and [eventually ended up taking a paycut](http://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2011/aug/15/cesc-fabregas-barcelona-return) to make the transfer to Barca happen.

40. General sources: [Informe Robinson with Gerard Pique](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2eNOAA1wsdQ) featuring Cesc Fabregas, the biography of Leo Messi by G Balague, Barcelona: the Making of the Greatest Team in the World by Graham Hunter.

**Author's Note:**

> [let's go back to the start](http://archiveofourown.org/works/255680) is chronologically the next fic, although it's entirely focused on Cesc and Leo's relationship. If you're curious about Leo's reactions towards the end, that fic explains.
> 
> This was meant to be the final part of the series but I have been forced by circumstances (read: goddamn transfers) into writing one more from Cesc's POV, covering the events leading up to his move to Chelsea. So if you've made it this far please look out for that.
> 
> This fic means a lot to me, and was a long time in the making. Thank you for reading it. All feedback gratefully received.


End file.
